The Son of Monte-Cristo, Volume II | Page 4

kissed her heartily on both cheeks, and then placed her on the ground. He then glanced around, and anxiously asked:
"Where is Fanfaro?"
"Here, Papa Firejaws," came cheerfully from the interior of the wagon, and at the same moment a dark head appeared in sight above a large box. The head was followed by a beautifully formed body, and placing his hand lightly on the edge of the wagon, Fanfaro swung gracefully to the ground.
"Madcap, can't you stop turning?" scolded Girdel, laughingly; "go into the house and get your breakfast!"
Caillette, Fanfaro, and Bobichel went away; Girdel turned to his wife and pleasantly said:
"Rolla, I will now help you down."
Rolla looked at him sharply, and then said in a rough, rasping voice:
"Didn't I call you, Robeckal? Come and help me down!"
Robeckal, who had been observing the chickens in the courtyard, slowly approached the wagon.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Help me down," repeated Rolla.
Girdel remained perfectly calm, but a careful observer might have noticed the veins on his forehead swell. He measured Rolla and Robeckal with a peculiar look, and before his look Rolla's eyes fell.
"Robeckal, are you coming?" cried the virago, impatiently.
"What do you wish here?" asked Girdel, coolly, as Robeckal turned to Rolla.
"What do I wish here?" replied Robeckal; "Madame Girdel has done me the honor to call me, and--"
"And you are thinking rather long about it," interrupted Rolla, gruffly.
"I am here," growled Robeckal, laying his hand upon the edge of the wagon.
"No further!" commanded Girdel, in a threatening voice.
"Ha! who is going to prevent me?"
"I, wretch!" thundered Firejaws, in whose eyes a warning glance shone.
"Bah! you are getting angry about nothing," said Robeckal, mockingly, placing his other hand on the edge of the wagon.
"Strike him, Robeckal!" cried Rolla, urgingly.
Robeckal raised his right hand, but at the same moment the athlete stretched him on the ground with a blow of his fist; he could thank his stars that Girdel had not struck him with his full force, or else Robeckal would never have got up again. With a cry of rage he sprung up and threw himself upon the giant, who waited calmly for him with his arms quietly folded over his breast; a sword shone in Robeckal's hand, and how it happened neither he nor Rolla knew, but immediately after he lay on top of the wagon, close to the Cannon Queen.
"Enough of your rascality, Robeckal," said the voice of him who had thrown the angry man upon the wagon.
"I thought the wretched boy would come between us again," hissed Rolla; and without waiting for any further help she sprung from the wagon and rushed upon Fanfaro, for he it was who had come to Girdel's assistance.
"Back, Rolla!" exclaimed Firejaws, hoarsely, as he laid his iron fist upon his wife's shoulder. Schwan came to the door and cordially said:
"Where are your comrades? The soup is waiting."
Robeckal hurriedly glided from the wagon, and approaching close to Rolla, he whispered a few words in her ear.
"Let me go, Girdel," said the giantess. "Who would take such a stupid joke in earnest? Come, I am hungry."
Firejaws looked at his wife in amazement. Her face, which had been purple with anger, was now overspread by a broad grin, and shrugging his shoulders, Girdel walked toward the house. Fanfaro followed, and Robeckal and Rolla remained alone.
"We must make an end of it, Rolla," grumbled Robeckal.
"I am satisfied. The sooner the better!"
"Good. I shall do it to-night. See that you take a little walk afterward on the country road. I will meet you there and tell you my plan."
"Do so. Let us go to dinner now, I am hungry."
When Rolla and Robeckal entered the dining-room, Girdel, Caillette, Bobichel, and Fanfaro were already sitting at table, and Schwan was just bringing in a hot, steaming dish.
CHAPTER III
OLD AND NEW ACQUAINTANCES
While the hungry guests were eating, the door at the back of the large dining-room was very softly opened. None of the strangers observed this, but the host, whose eyes were all over, went toward the door, at the threshold of which stood a man about forty years of age. The man was small and lean, and wore a brown overcoat trimmed with fur; the coat was cut out at the bosom and allowed a yellow vest and sky-blue tie to be seen. Trousers of dark-blue cloth reached to the knee, and his riding-boots, with spurs, completed the wonderfully made toilet.
The man's face had a disagreeable expression. He had deep squinting eyes, a large mouth, a broad nose, and long, bony fingers.
When the host approached the stranger he bowed and respectfully asked:
"How can I serve you, sir?"
The stranger did not reply; his gaze was directed toward the table and the guests, and the host, who had observed his look, again repeated the question.
The stranger walked into the middle of